


i have been right here for the whole time

by clizzyhours



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dual POV’s, F/F, Flowers, Loneliness, Longing, Maia’s is a book reference, Meanings, Past Abuse, Rebecca has a Terrible Shop name, Tattoos, florist!rebecca, help lmao, is Isabelle a witch who Knows, literally googled flower meanings and guessed at tattoo parlors and what they are like, mundane!maia, pining unintentionally, switching of pov’s, tattoo artist!maia roberts, unedited, witch!rebecca
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 23:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20235925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clizzyhours/pseuds/clizzyhours
Summary: In which tattoo artist Maia Roberts wonders and florist Rebecca Lewis pines.It’s their story after all.





	i have been right here for the whole time

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: language. references of abuse regarding maia’s past.
> 
> prompts: tattoo + florist  
team orange. final fic i think. 💓
> 
> thank you so much and enjoy reading!

Okay. So.

Rebecca know she is not supposed to start the beginning of a story with these words but what the hell.

It’s her story after all. (For now.)

New York City during the warm months where spring flourishes into summer is perfect for her florist shop. Flowers begin to bloom and everything is lush, so very green.

The city becomes brighter and animated away from the dreary grays of desolate winter.

People rush into the shop more easily now as they get to linger, mingling with peonies and lilies and roses.

The cold has vanished as the sun blazes, bringing endless warmth.

And? 

A little bit of magic never hurts anyone.

—

Maia loves her little tattoo parlor. ‘Roberts Ink Heart.’

And okay so maybe her chosen tattoo parlor name is from a book series. A really fantastic book series, in her opinion.

It’s more than quaint - it’s so suitably Her space with expansive floors, polished wood, and beautiful but intricate art hanging.

She has several tattoo designs hanging proudly, illustrated and colored by Clary, one of her co-tattoo artists. Other designs are carefully placed on neat stands, ready for interested customers to peruse and select.

Maia maneuvers herself around a box of supplies that arrived early this morning and carefully places her tools into their rightful areas.

The back door entrance jingles and Clary enters to sit down on a bar stool, swiveling her combatted feet around immediately. Her sketch pads and artsy messenger bag spill messily on the table in front of her.

“Aren’t you a five year old today?” Maia teases, glancing at Clary with warm eyes.

Clary makes a low hmm noise and pops her bubblegum.

“Really?”

Clary blinks slow and innocently.

“Do you want me to play Disney music to set the mood?” Maia teases again.

“At least I am having fun,” Clary quips and pushes her red hair into a messy bun, shoving a paintbrush through a loop.

Maia smirks.

“When is Simon coming in?” Maia inquires, glancing at the time.

Clary’s distracted by her sketch pad this time and she calls out to her.

“Clary!”

“Oh, within the next fifteen minutes or so? He had to deliver something next door to Rebecca,” Clary murmurs distractedly, sketching intensively. Her fingers are a quick blur. 

Ah. Rebecca. Simon’s sister and an interesting enigma to her. She’s like a quiet mouse with bark or so Clary says. 

Simon often talks about her with love clearly in his voice, but the stories are different than reality.

Maia doesn’t know her. Not really.

For how long she has been here, Rebecca and her haven’t exactly crossed paths. It’s not really unusual.

Maia doesn’t need flowers and Rebecca apparently isn’t the time of woman to wear tattoos.

Busyness is a deadly inflict upon an adult’s life anyhow.

“Please tell me you’re not drawing your wife again,” Maia groans.

“I thought you wanted to know when Simon was coming in?” Clary snipes back.

“Because you are two the equivalent of Batman and Robin and seem to, I don’t know, know everything about one another?”

“You act like we are codependent.”

“No. That would be you and Isabelle,” Maia murmurs, going down inventory checklist and marking off names.

“Hey!” Clary shouts. 

Maia smirks again. Clary is so easy to rile up - tiny and yet so mighty with a nasty right hook.

“And what about you?” Clary says. “You’re still on you’re lonely shtick.” 

“I am not lonely.” Maia eye’s snap to look at Clary sharply.

“I know you love this place, Maia. As do I, but I swear you spend all your time here,” Clary murmurs. “I am just worried.”

“There’s no need to be worried, Fray,” Maia replies, her glacier expression warming.

“Isn’t there?” Clary pointedly looks.

Maia simply shrugs and centers the subject to a different focus.

“So your Robin sidekick, where is he?” Maia emphasizes the time again. “We have a busy day ahead.”

Appointments can’t wait after all.

Clary pointedly glances at her again but acquiesces. 

“And now!” She states as Simon jogs into the parlor in a flurry, glasses skewed, and printed t shirt in all.

“Hey Fray! Hey Roberts!” He says cheerfully and grins widely.

“Perfect timing. Am I right or am I right?”

Clary laughs and Maia groans.

Her co-workers are such fools.

Somewhere towards the middle of the room, a creeping ivy with glorious snow petals is slipping into the room. 

—

Isabelle ties a pretty scarlet ribbon around a bouquet of lilies and pink peonies, interspersed with vivid blue forget-me-nots.

Rebecca smiles approvingly. “Good, good, Izzy,” She murmurs contentedly.

Isabelle with her inked skin and red lips and cascading curls - reminiscent of an old-fashioned Hollywood starlet. She smiles brightly, tracing the pretty Rune symbol around her wrist.

Some type of binding, Rebecca has recognized many months ago, a colorful blueredgreen aura essentially dripping. Isabelle reeks of magic and yeah, okay, maybe, Rebecca hasn’t brought it - the topic yet?

How does one even approach the fact you are a witch? How do you ask your employee - hey, I couldn’t but notice the tattoo around your wrist and it’s not typically a tattoo because it’s literal magic, and by any chance, are you a witch as well?

A nervous ramble it would be! She can’t. She’s not like her brother Simon who can say something and be considered endearing for it.

Rebecca rambles and she’s just so - an awkward klutz. 

Anyways.

Isabelle had said it was an intricate mark - something she and her wife Clary share who ironically works next door at the tattoo parlor. And yeah, that’s a different topic altogether. A symbolization of their marriage is what Isabelle claimed. 

Rebecca is still skeptical. To be fair, it’s her own fault. She refuses to ask Izzy about the magical aura around the mark but then again, it’s entirely possible she might not realize?

Okay. Nope. It’s not important right now. She needs to be focused on the bouquet of flowers she took from Isabelle’s manicured hands.

Lilies symbolize humility and devotion. Peonies can be defined as romance, prosperity, and compassion. Forget-me-nots are true love.

A mixture bouquet for somebody special, she hopes.

Rebecca Lewis loves her customers of all types from ailing elderly women to blushing brides to ridiculously sappy and besotted couples.

She thrives off being a florist.

Rebecca murmurs a quiet spell under her pink lips and adds a customary good luck enchantment to the bouquet of flowers.

She hopes whoever they are to enjoy their beauty and has a wonderful day. People deserve kindness and goodness and opportunities in this world.

She desperately hopes they enjoy the bouquet.

In an instance, the bouquet is off to her awaiting customer and she repeats the cycle again.

Rebecca wanders her florist shop, carefully sprinkling enchantments into the core of colorful flowers. She’s soothes and gentles and vows.

Isabelle is bustling in their inventory and storage room so Rebecca carefully glances up every so often to not alert Izzy of the spells she’s weaving right under her nose.

Sunflowers are growing in their nursery, frozen and slick with magic. Yeah. So maybe, she isn’t quite good at persuading Isabelle to look away but she seems to never question or inquire.

And she’s not really looking to rock their steady partnership at the moment.

So. Yeah.

Rebecca restocks pots and vases and seed packages. She dusts and sweeps, all while humming a song.

Lavender is fresh in the air. Moss and ivy are intertwined together across the spectrum of her vast windows, pretty white flowers poking out. 

And what she doesn’t quite realize? They are extending and growing and flourishing into the tattoo parlor next door.

The world is heady and alive and she can feel her magic thrumming everywhere she goes.

Isabelle is happy and Rebecca is content.

—

It’s mid-day and Maia has just finished inking an anxious teenager who wanted a sparrow across their ankle.

It was rather basic but Maia is not one to judge. Everyone has some reason to get a tattoo whether it’s for the aesthetic or for some hidden deep meaning.

Hell, Maia has several of her own.

An abusive ex-boyfriend who left a permanent scar across her neck and with that, she had turned the area into strength and renewal with a tattoo of a moon. The tattoo stretches and curves with silver and star-like lines, deep and outlined against her brown throat. She had survived and endured.

A wolf tattoo is across her hip, green eyed and large, a symbolization of strong spirit.

She has a few star ink marks across her fingers in a gentle curve and loop with names written secretly. 

A sun is on the back of her neck, flames pointing like a compass.

Maia seeks for strength and survival in her marks, a way to emphasize her past to future, and bring overall joy.

Her tattoos are everything.

She can hear the buzz of an inker - Clary and Simon preoccupied with a customer.

Maia begins the trek to the back of her parlor and from the corner of her left eye, she spies something green.

What?

She approaches closer and gapes.

An ivy? Moss? Maia stares, gazing down at her open window and the long, long vine.

Flowers.

She squints at the white flowers.

How the hell?

Maia moves and peers out the window. Her dark eyes scan curiously.

Rebecca’s florist shop windows are wide open and she can the vine trailing out across the alley, down, down the brick, and all the way back.

Is Rebecca performing a science experiment? Did she order from the black market? A fairy? 

Maia glances at the vine again.

Is this even possible? 

She knows that some nurseries and shops have intricate designs but she has never seen anything like this from Rebecca.

And Simon has the tendency to make Rebecca’s shop sound so mundane and ordinary.

Which. Well.

Maybe too mundane?

Nobody needs to emphasize the importance of ‘boringness’ and originality that MUCH. She makes a mental note to yell at Simon later.

And well, perhaps, she isn’t too surprised?

It’s not like Maia has ignored the existence of Rebecca. Their paths do not typically cross but she can still see when something is out of the blue.

Her shop is right next door. You can easily see the bustling of people and changes if you know when to look.

Rebecca’s flowers in front of her pink shop never seem to change, only bloom and flourish even in the coldest months.

So hmm, Maia muses. Maybe there is something deeper than what her exterior gives?

It is a pretty flower, Maia thinks and snips the flower from the vine.

She breathes in the flower and smiles. Fresh. Maia is reminded of fresh fallen snow and icy temperatures.

She has a feeling the flower will last for a long time to come and makes her feel a little less alone. 

(Clary isn’t right! Damn it.)

—

In the days to come, Rebecca becomes overworked with impending shipments, deliveries being made, and a rush of orders.

She refuses to use magic to magically sort her problems.

Rebecca can do this. She does it all the time with Isabelle.

They work excellently as a team together.

“Isabelle!” Rebecca calls out, her kitten heels making a low clack sound against the lilemonum.

Isabelle appears immediately.

“What?” She murmurs concernedly.

“Can you please help?”

“Of course. You just like to take on so much,” Isabelle states and begins to help Rebecca sort.

“I know, I know, I am sorry,” Rebecca apologizes profusely.

“Just let me help, okay?” Her dark eyes pleas and she nods.

Isabelle brightens and together, they work in tandem and as well as an oil-slick machine.

—

Over in Maia’s parlor, the vine has become entangled against their roof.

She doesn’t bring the topic up. In fact, the vine and the following:

Little pinpoints of flowers have begun to grow and appear, pink and red and a cacophony of colors have become a steady anchor.

Maia swears they seem almost alive, alight with a magic.

Clary is amused by it. There’s a knowing glint in her eyes. Simon doesn’t seem to notice and if he does, he’s quiet about the topic. 

Maia doesn’t press him quite yet. She thinks he knows more than he lets on but there’s an almost snail-pace to the situation. 

It’s as if she is waiting for something to drop. And she likes the vine, the flowers, the colorful explosions and fresh smells.

It livens up the parlor and brings a strange sort of joy tumbling inside of her.

Or somebody, a hidden part of her screams.

—

The shoe drops and it’s like her loneliness has been temporarily been abated. 

A few more days pass and Main just knows.

It’s time. She feels it in her marks, in her blood and she knows it when sees Isabelle.

Her tattoo parlor has become a miniature garden and she has been giving excuses to her customers that she’s “investing in a new look.”

People are quick to believe what they want to see or hear.

Clary likes to tease and she’s holding Isabelle’s hand.

“I told you,” Clary triumphantly says. 

Simon is nowhere to be found. She’s not too concerned about him right now.

“Okay, damn,” Isabelle says, marveling at the wild beauty.

“Izzy, it’s nice to see you.”

Isabelle turns around and smiles widely at Maia. They embrace and it’s sweet but brief.

“How are you?” Isabelle inquires.

“You know, working, enjoying the flowers.”

Isabelle lets out a huff of a laugh.

“You don’t seem to be surprised?”

“There are weirder elements out there,” Mai remarks.

“I suppose,” Isabelle murmurs, looking thoughtful. She exchanges a look with Clary who has been studying nothingness.

“What?” Maia asks.

“I really think you should stop by Rebecca’s,” Isabelle says instead.

“Why?”

Maia eyes narrow.

“You’re seeking something.”

Maia cocks her head bemusedly.

“Clary, why is your wife acting mysteriously?” 

Clary merely smirks and places her head on Isabelle’s shoulder.

“You tell me.”

“I hate you both,” Maia says, laughing. 

Perhaps she will.

—

Rebecca hears the jingling bell go off, alerting her to a presence.

“Hello! Welcome to Rebecca’s Florality Shop, How may I help you?”

The woman glances at her curiously and speaks bluntly.

“So I kind of had this plan. I would confront you especially with Simon’s weirdness and Clary’s giggles and Isabelle’s strange hints but I think I am much more interested in you.”

Rebecca blinks. Oh my.

She didn’t anticipate this flirtation nor is she really surprised by Maia’s knowing eyes. Rebecca is beginning to think that her magical powers are one of her worst kept secrets. 

“What do you mean, by, uh, confront me?” And did the pretty woman just say she was interested her?

Rebecca glances at her sharply. It’s Maia. The one Simon speaks of fondly, Isabelle who occasionally brings up her name, and her next door neighbor / business.

She glances at the moon tattoo peeking out from the military green tank Maia is wearing with fitted jeans and black ankle boots.

She looks really, really good.

“Not really confront. More like ask? Clary and Isabelle kind of hinted. You really don’t know?” 

Rebecca shakes her head, confusion unleashed. Clary and Isabelle? What? 

“The vine? The flowers? Mysteriously showing up next door in my tattoo parlor?” Maia says, smiling widely.

She has a beautiful smile. And shit.

“Wait - What!” Rebecca says frantically.

“It’s okay,” Maia soothes.

“It’s not,” Rebecca replies, untying her violet apron and scrambling over to her windows.

“Oh, oh, oh my,” Rebecca gasps, eyes taking in the long but endless vine with white flowers intertwined. Moss creeps in and out.

Oh. Oh no.

Moss can symbolize projection. Ivy has religious meanings and can also mean fidelity. Camellia flowers: longing, beloved. Oh.

Rebecca shuts her eyes and thinks about a moment weeks ago. A quiet night with several candles and surrounded with her witchcraft books. Her spells and enchantments.

She remembers a slow spell, murmured tiredly. Of want. She thinks: oh.

She wanted to be recognized, to be known. She had coveted and Rebecca apparently manifested her desire through a magical vine. To Maia, apparently.

She barks back bitter laughter.

This isn’t what she meant to do. She just wanted - she doesn’t even know anymore.

“Rebecca, it’s okay,” Maia murmurs gently.

“I liked the flowers. They are beautiful and honestly? They had made me feel less alone.”

Oh, Rebecca thinks.

Maia glances at her and thinks, okay, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so blunt.

Rebecca’s flower shop is beautiful with endless flowers and glorious pink and fresh smells. Maia can sense the evident love she has for her florist shop.

All though, she does kind of wonder about “Florality” as a title.

Maia smiles brighter.

“It’s okay,” She soothes. Rebecca looks less like a trapped animal and she approaches closely.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you could show me?” Maia tentatively asks, hope slowly unfurling in her chest.

Rebecca’s endearing charm is magnetic and she can’t help but be pulled in.

“That I can do magic?”

Maia laughs.

“Yeah; that you can do magic.”

“It’s not very a well-guarded secret, huh?” Rebecca muses, strands of brown hair falling into her eyes.

Maia resists the urge to tuck her hair back.

“No, not really,” She says in between laughter.

“That explains a lot about Isabelle,” Rebecca states.

“Isabelle having magical powers or just keenly knowing everything?”

“Both.” Maia and Rebecca laughs. The awkwardness has been dispersed and it’s almost lovely.

“That’s fair.”

Maia moves a bit closer to Rebecca. “I am sorry for scaring you.”

“You didn’t scare me. I was just surprised. I am the one who apparently grew a vine with a garden in your establishment.”

“I shouldn’t have barged in or just blurted it out.”

“You didn’t act like anything, Maia. I don’t blame you for anything. It’s honestly kind of funny at this point.”

“Funny?” Maia inquires, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. My worst kept secret lead me to a wonderful woman.”

“Oh?” Maia says, unconsciously leaning into Rebecca’s space.

“And you know what? I am interested in you as well. It’s explains the ivy. And moss. And flowers. I am really sorry about those,” Rebecca murmurs.

“For what? I said I loved them,” Maia points out.

“It can’t be easy explaining it to customers?” 

“I don’t really care for what people have to say,” Maia says, moving even closer.

Oh, Rebecca thinks. Be brave, she tells herself.

“And honestly? It’s a sign. We are meant to be on a date,” Maia says.

Maia thinks yeah, this is a new beginning.

“Is that so?”

Maia smirks, nods.

“May I?” Maia eyes are beautiful and her lips are curved and Rebecca is - flustered.

She kisses Maia and oh, it’s sweet and she’s reminded of peonies and longing and wishes.

Maia thinks of comfort and tattoos and a magical world discovered. Her lips are sweet as candy.

“So about spells?” Rebecca suddenly interrupts and Maia laughs again, gently hushing her and kisses her again.

There’s plenty of time later.

It’s not Rebecca’s story. It’s Maia’s. It’s her and Maia. It’s her and Rebecca.

It’s their story: a florist witch and a lonely tattoo artist who come together again and again and again.

They kiss again, fingers interlocked as apricot and ambrosia flowers begin to bloom around them. Timid love; returned love.

It’s them.


End file.
